The me, she is a-changing (10 things)

Wasn’t Bob Dylan just sex on a stick? I mean it, I would have kissed those lips right off his face. He’d have needed a manicure first as those banjo picking nails look dangerous, but after that I’d have turned him into skinny whiteboy snack (I know he’s not dead or anything but all that smoking has taken its toll). I so would have been on the suspected Commie list back in the day. I love me some artists and musicians.

Okay yeah, I am procrastinating because I want to respond to a tag but I am not sure how at this moment. Hmmmm, ten things, ten things. What I like about me…ummmm…not that I don’t like myself or anything, but I expect the things I do like will read like a cross between an acoa characteristic checklist (fiercely loyal, yadda yadda yadda) and a soft core porn novel (my full lips and shelf booty). I will pick the theme that froglette alluded to in her tag so we can avoid that. Ahem. My list of 10 things I like is about what has positively changed in me since I’ve become a mother. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to read like a Hallmark card or one one those Chicken Soup things. I’d rather choke.

Here goes: Since becoming a mama, I like that I now…

1. Trust my intuition - I was right about my early contractions, I knew I should have refused that one procedure, I was right about the thrush, I was right about Bean’s belly, I was right about our initial sleeping schedule and should have never messed with it…gaaaah! You know that scene in the Color Purple where they sing God is Trying to Tell You Something? Yeah, well. S/he was trying to tell me again and again to listen to myself. I am now. See, Daddy? Sinners have souls, too.
2. Love Huz more - after all, it is kinda in my best interest to do so, ha! Seriously though, we’ve been in each other’s lives since we were 13 and 15 years old. I didn’t think we could get to know each other better and connect even more. We have.
3. Surround myself with a circle of women - I have always had strong and intelligent females as prominent figures in my life. Thanks to the shared experience of motherhood and the zippetedydooda of the interweb (go go powers of meetup and wordpress), I now have a whole lot of them, all of whom I am grateful for. I am a stronger woman because of them.
4. Parent myself - I kinda knew this needed to happen pre-Bean, but now it is essential. I will not be broken for him. I must be fully present.
5. Trust the universe - if I had chosen the midwife instead of the M.D., if I had gone back to the rock star, if I had never gotten laid off, and if a bajillion other things that seemed so completely wacked out at the time had gone differently, I wouldn’t be here having this amazing and deeply happy life with Bean and Huz.
6. Don’t hate to cook - I rejected cooking because I viewed it as a housewifey thing to know how to do and screw that because I am a feminist, dammit, and besides, who needs the pressure of cooking for a chef? Turns out I do take satisfaction in putting together big dinners for lots of people (on occasion) which is something I never had the inclination to do before people started coming around to see Bean. Who knew I could do this? Who knew I would want to? It’s weird, but good.
7. View the way I feel things as an asset rather than a hindrance - my abysmal capacity for empathy was always something I viewed as a handicap, but it sure does come in handy with a kid. I’ve got such a good feel for him now.
8. No longer want to escape from my life in self destructive ways - it may be an overused sentiment, but it is the simple freaking truth: I am living for more than myself now. Besides, life is pretty freaking beautiful these days. Why would I want to leave?
9. Have greater self-awareness and acceptance - this is still a struggle because a part of me does seem to love mucking around in pain and regret, but I am getting much more comfortable with being me. This bloggity-blog is kinda my public proclamation of selfhood, it is a declaration of me accepting me, and I wouldn’t be writing it, or at least most of the content in it (seen my tag cloud lately?) if I hadn’t become a mama. This also includes being comfortable in and finally feeling complete ownership of my physical body.
10. Know how to just be - kind of a variation of #9, but kinda not. Bean has taught me that I do not have to be the best at anything or accomplish a million things. The way I define being a ”success” has completely changed. I now define it as being a whole person (sounds deceptively simple) and nurturing the development of Bean as a whole person. I do not need to prove to him or anyone else that I am a career-oriented/hip/earth/urban/alt/other mama; I am exactly what he needs exactly as I am. And I belong here.

Huh. I am glad I did this. Motherhood: it’s not for wimps.

Lemme spread the love (how perverse is that expression in my mind? Is it just me? ha! I love it). How has motherhood changed the women I have listed in my Bawdy Broad Records?

blue milk

Chaos is Normal

Mom is a religious nut…

momomax

My Fairbanks Life

not that i don’t love my kids…

subarctic mama

walking through doors

And if you are reading this, how about you, Jess? 

If anybody else wants to tell me, please use the comments section or write to me. This was a question I kind of immediately recoiled at but I am glad I answered for myself. I really want to hear what you all have to say. What are ten things you like about yourself now that you’re a mama?

xoxoxo,
B.

Me me me, I I I, my my my

This blogging thing is mightily self indulgent. At least, my blog is. I’m not exactly trying to save the world here, but still, it is an odd feeling to look back over so many posts and see so much ME. When did this blogging thing become such a part of my life? Must be thanks to you nutty broads (and errant fellas) spurring me on with your own writing. I’m enjoying the hell out of you all, I really am.

I’ll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours (Bob said that).

Two gifts

I am going to be an Auntie!

I cannot even describe how very pleased I am. My sister-in-law is going to be an awesome nurturer. While she was still a teenager I shared my work with her in caring for a child with Lissencephaly (my first son in a spiritual sense). She was a deeply empathic caregiver even at that young age. God/dess knows Bean certainly clung to her like a happy little monkey when she visited with him. 

Pre-Bean, I would have made a list of about a million things to get her in preparation for her baby. Post-Bean, that list consists of two gifts:

1. A mei tai - the clear winner in my babywearing experience to date.
2. My commitment to teaching her how to use her boobs - she wants to try and I am going to be on-call for her 24/7 in that effort.

I know, I know, it’s kind of like buying someone a Christmas present that I wish I would have received, but I’m convinced by lots of trial and error that these are the best things that I can give. We could hear the thrills and chills in her voice after her first ultrasound and it gave me butterflies. I am going to do everything possible to be with her on her journey.

I am so looking forward to watching her become a mama.

One more reason I am glad I force myself to be social

I have heard that mothers’ groups can be tricksy beasts, but you never really know how they’re going to be until you actually make yourself go.

I’ve written about my aversion to all things groupish, which I think is common enough in people, but I have reaaaally tried to be more social since Bean was born. Not so much in those first 5 months when I felt like a shell of a human being most days, but not long after that, I made myself mingle. Even on days when I was crying, on days that I did not want to get dressed, on days that I just seemed to be swirling within a vortex of suck, I have gotten myself and Bean out the door and with people. That is a major freaking accomplishment for someone like me, I don’t mind telling you.

Granted, the days when we do manage to get to a meetup are few and far between, as Bean always seems to be sleeping or eating riiiiiight about the time we are supposed to be somewhere, but we have made it to some by now. I am grateful for them. I am glad I didn’t believe the hype about mothers’ groups being exclusive, or full of competi-mommies, or whatever the latest Momo y Momo garbage the media or some ad-driven blogger wants you to believe. Besides, I have my ways of handling people who act crazy; I can always shut shit down with a few choice words and teacherface.

The Crafty Mamas group is very attractive to me, although I know I will never be that hip and am not overly concerned with trying. They have a lot to teach, those broads.  They bake their own bread and grow their own vegatables within homemade, indoor greenhouses; diaper one child in cloth and homeopathic paste whilst others ride on their backs in handmade wraps, all the while blaring Skinny Puppy and simmering vegetarian feasts in preparation for the others to arrive so they can discuss their dreamy homebirths at the hands of their highly experienced and dreadlocked midwives. Fine by me, I ain’t scared. They can regard my lack of experience with disdain all damn day, I am there to talk with them and learn from them and take home what works for me. What DOES intimidate me about them are the simple facts that 1. they refer to themselves as like a ”family” (eek! how hard is that to feel welcome in?) and 2. have an active messageboard (eek eek! you know how messageboards can devolve). Kinda scary for a socially anxious person to approach but they do rock.

Still, I find myself most comfortable with the broads that created an off-shoot of the Stay at Home Moms meetup. The irony of this is not lost on me (and actually, most of them do have paid employment of some kind). 

I do not just feel more comfortable because the renegade sahms live near me and therefore my germophobe self can avoid going on the el with Bean (I used to work with immuno-compromised kids so I have always been careful, but Bean’s hospitalization sent me over the edge into what could be considered germ-phobic territory). I go to their renegade sahm group because I like them, I really like them. They are interesting and enthusiastic and kind. We get together casually and fairly often. Okay, they do. I do what I can and usually show up late. You know what? They don’t mind.

So besides the interactive time for Bean and me, there is now one more reason I am glad I force myself to be social…

Today I actually did make it over to someone’s house for Bean to play a while. We had a nice little time for ourselves. As we were leaving, I noticed that one mom had a bag embroidered with the logo of a study I worked on pre-Bean. I was all, “No way, you know that study?!” and she was all, “I’m coordinating it now” and I was all, “Shut up!”  (I know, I am a mental giant when I get excited) and she was all, “Are you trained in the protocol? Because we are looking for people to do field work in January” and do want to know what?????

I will have a little help in January with childcare! I may actually have a flexible part-time gig that is not Mary-freaking-Kay AND actually utilizes my degrees and experience. Do you know what that is? THAT is a fine thing, my people. A fine thing, indeed. Honestly, though, even if this par-ticular gig doesn’t work out for some reason, it was a welcome reminder that there is something out there for me, and cool things happen all the time.

Um, this is pretty freaking cute

I am re-entering the world of children’s television lately, as Bean seems to have a consistently pissy time in the afternoon that is easily soothed with a bottle of juice, a whole lot of pillows on the floor, and a few minutes of t.v. (FU, APA!)

I was not immune to the Baby Einstein schtick, but only experienced it in a limited fashion as it was quickly passed along and referred to as Baby Crack due to Bean’s zone-y response to it. I am already quite familiar with those wonky Teletubbies, as I was once a recreational drug user. I love those crazy bitches but they are on in the morning. Thomas the Tank Engine and Sesame Street are grand but never seem to be on at cranky time, either. I scanned the kids channels today and found this:

Mixed media images of animal characters with children’s singing voices bolstered by orchestral arrangements and relatively simple actions? Yes, please. I do believe we’ve found our show.

Oh crap/Oh joy

Crap: I didn’t realize that my blog was set up to only allow comments from registered peeps. Didn’t mean to be so very exclusive. It’s fixed now.

Joy: Guess what? I’ve got new neighbors. Yep, finally! This is after over a year of monstrously loud rehabbing which was later inexplicably ripped up in its entirety (concrete and wood floors, cabinets, everything; so very, very loud for so very, very long) by large groups of surly men who didn’t seem to believe in personal hygiene, only to be re-rehabbed in an even louder fashion during our worst times of sleep deprivation and colic. Now actual PEOPLE have moved in next to me.

The only wall we share is in our kitchen, but I was still dreading the arrival of neighbors almost as much as I was the possibility of re-re-rehabbing. I live in an area that has been dubbed the largest collective college campus in the Land o’ Lincoln, and that means many units are virtually overflowing with student renters. Let’s just say that they’re not exactly the greatest for keeping things neat and quiet, and they have been known to leave some disturbing things behind in our shared laundry facilities. Lo and behold, the newest door-slammers on the hall are not students at all! Not only are they around our age, they have a one year old baby boy! I may actually have spontaneous interactions with other parents!

Even if that potential goes unrealized, at least I know they won’t be kicking holes in the drywall whilst blaring bass, puking in the elevator and wiping boogies in the hallway walls. Huzzah!

chaos brings up an important point

in her comment on my “oy, the guilt” post. She didn’t intend to, but she did. My responses to a lot of things are dysfunctional ones.

Like many people, my responses are deeply affected by having a rather hateful person as one parent and a blindly loving enabler for the other. Some of my earliest memories as a very little child are of being told I was bad, hated, a liar, and disgusting; of being treated as a deep annoyance and as though I should apologize for breathing air. I believed these things for many years.

On a subconcious level I still struggle with not believing it’s all true. I imagine that is why I ended up in police cars by 12, already heavily alcohol-dependent and on drugs, then pregnant at 16, and when I got past those things found myself in more than one abusive relationship over the years. I hadn’t yet accepted that I was worth something as a human being. When I finally did, it was under the belief that I had to be perfect, to show myself that I could rise above all that crap and I could matter.  I am still learning to accept that I do not need to be a supastah or Mother Teresa to be a person of value. So when I am confronted with something that I do not excel in, or something I cannot control (like, oh, say, parenting a colicky baby, not having that work at home job I was expecting, experiencing loneliness yet pushing people away, etc etc etc) it does not take much for me to start thinking veeeeeeery negative thoughts about myself.

So. I am parenting me-then by going back and getting her in my mind (it’s a mental exercise I learned about somewhere along the way). I go back and get her and bring her here, to where everything is alright. She exists out there still in the space/time whatchamacallit, that wounded-me, and I have to make her know she is safe and good. I have to pick her up and hug her and say, “Come with me, I am getting you out of here right now, you do not deserve this.”

But even when I do go back and get her all those times, which is mentally exhausting but necessary, what then? My family life taught me how to get through the day, how to bear things, how to put my head down and be sad and keep it to myself. They didn’t teach me how to have joy, how to feel calm and secure, how to have a hobby, or how to feel worthy of love and respect. I am figuring those things out now as I go.

Someone once said to “strive to be the parent you wish you had”. I am doing just that, for myself and for Bean.

Anywho, just wanted to clarify that I’m fucked up in some ways and these posts are going to reflect that.  But I am good and kind and getting better all the time.

Oy, the guilt!

So I am finally reading Our Babies, Ourselves and it’s led me to review every moment I can recall of these past 10 months that have made up Bean’s life outside the womb. I do wish I had read it before he was born. Now I am obsessing. Did I hold him enough? He practically lived in the sling…then why all the crying when he was outside of it? Did I let him cry too much out of my exhaustion, my near total isolation in caring for him, and my ignorance as a first time parent? It seems like the answer is yes.

There were four episodes in particular where I remember just giving up for a while. Two times I left him in his crib to scream his head off while I walked out of the room to cry, and two times I swaddled him and placed him next to me in the co-sleeper to scream right alongside him for a few minutes. There were plenty of other times when I would be wearing him or sleeping with him, and he would cry and I would cry because nothing I offered him seemed to help. It scared the crap out of me (and him, too, I bet) to be so ignorant and alone. Where was my mother’s instinct? I wore him, I co-slept, I responded as best I could. I sang, I cooed, I massaged. Why were there times when nothing worked?

He was never a “take him anywhere” baby; it was a choice to stay at home with him or bear the wrath of the Bean. Bright lights at stores, too many people and too much conversation, being held still for too long; all of it made him flip out. I remember a woman at Target telling me she missed how easy it was to go places in the newborn days, because “they need so little and sleep so much”. I swallowed hard and gave her a weak “yeah” while I tried to get the hell away from her before Bean started wailing. I had a baby that couldn’t be taken places in those little car seat carrier things.  He would fight the straps and arch and scream.

I called my mother, then I called my friend Jess, and told them I was afraid God was going to punish me for not enjoying my baby’s infancy like I should. I consulted the interweb endlessly. I left messages with our former pediatrician, saying “His stomach is hurting, he is gassy beyond belief, something is not right” and all I got back was “All babies are gassy and fussy” which made me feel like a whiny, incompetent asshole for expecting things to be a little easier. I asked if probiotics could be helpful and I was told that I would be using them at my own risk, that they weren’t studied or regulated. Needless to say, I was too afraid after that to try them.

I know now that there is merit to the idea that his belly was just not right; there is a theory that c-section babies aren’t exposed to necessary bacteria present in the vaginal canal that helps regulate gut activity. Add that to the fact that he was put on three propholactic IV drugs to ward off possible infection after his birth (overmedicalization, anyone? I wonder if they would have bothered if we weren’t so well insured?) which killed off all the good stuff in his gastro system. You know how upset your stomach can get on the average antibiotic? He was on two, AND an antiviral, all for nothing, it turned out. Better safe than sorry, they said, but how safe was that, really?

I had a baby who needed to be held to me, belly to belly, at all times, one who woke screaming when he did manage to sleep for 15-30 minute intervals. He slept so little that I feared for his development as much as I did my sanity. I remember telling my mom he wouldn’t sleep. Her answer: “Why?!?” Others asked, “Are you sure you aren’t waking him up because you are hovering over him?” I had a baby who startled at every sound and movement around him for months. Swaddling helped but the pipes banging and the non-stop construction around us in our ancient building, which we could not escape from due to the frozen temps, woke him continuously and almost did me in (of course, as soon as the weather warmed, the noise stopped).

I had a baby who hit me and kicked and cried while he nursed every 30-60 minutes. I had no idea he would nurse so much and I thought I was doing something wrong. He lost weight, then gained, then stayed even. I was doing everything I could possibly do to nourish him, still I felt like the “well baby” check-ups were performance reviews with an employer that wasn’t on my side.

I didn’t call him colicky until it was all over at about 5 months old. He was just my baby. I had nobody to compare him to. I knew it was an extremely hard time, and I knew that nobody else in my circle of mom aquaintances seemed to have such trouble. I blamed my inexperience; I blamed myself. I pored over books and articles to see what I was doing wrong. According to Sears, he was a classic “high needs baby”. That label is debatable, the time is long gone and Bean is now the most sunshine-y little person I have ever encountered, but I can’t help but think, “What could I have done better? How could I have made that time easier?”

Okay, I’m done.

I am not going to look back anymore. I am not going to regret anything. I have a happy, healthy baby and I did the absolute best I could with the knowledge and (little) support I had at the time. My hyperactive self-doubt reaction to this truly engrossing and worthwhile book is just my acoa need for superhuman-perfection. I am putting this out there as a way to cleanse myself of that tension once and for all, and also in case there is someone else struggling like I did, someone who is doing everything she can but nothing seems to be working and so she is searching for answers online. I’m here and I know what it is like. It does get better. Actually, it gets GREAT.

Hang in there, cry as much as you need to, be nice to yourself, and write to me whenever you want.

A favorite song for Sunday

What better way to celebrate the start of the day than a song sung by the High Priestess of Soul?

Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Between the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she’s touched your perfect body with her mind.

Righteous.

Here are rest of the Suzanne lyrics.

My addiction to baby carriers

Oh, baby carriers, I love yoooou! I want to marry yoooooooou! 

It all began when we were gifted with a Baby Bjorn to be used by Huz that never was (okay, hasn’t been YET, he says) and later a terrific Infantino version for me that wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world but all of the clips and doodads gave me a very secure feeling for icy outdoor walks. The headrest and little rain hood were perfection and Bean loved it even more when he was big enough to be front-facing. We could have never met those moms that day in the coffee shop and actually spent enough time to begin a friendship without it.

For in-home use, I do not know how I would have survived that intense post-surgery/colicky baby/deep freeze of winter time without my fleece kangaroo pouch. It later had to be replaced with a black cotton one when thrush set in with a vengeance and my boobs needed to breathe. The pouch was so easy, so chic, and so necessary when Bean’s belly was churning in misery and he was crying in the most heartbreaking way unless pressed to the heat and motion of mine. We walked and walked and walked and walked through our little home, back and forth for months. The only times he really screamed were the rare ones when I just couldn’t carry him any more, even though the pouch is crazy comfortable. We still use it.

I then became attracted to the nursing cover/extra snuggle fabric/zippered pocket style of my Maya ring wrap. I was insane with sleep deprivation when it was delivered. I cursed at the instructional dvd and flung the fabric around the room while that way-too-serene chick in the video had the audacity to not only wear the damn thing with ease, but also place, cradle and nurse a baby in it within seconds. Hooker. I had to return to it a few times, sans the confusing (to me) instructional dvd, and once we figured it out for ourselves, it became a fantastic tool for going for walks when I don’t want to screw around with our freight elevator/non-accessible handicapped exit/50 keys to get in the damn building drama.

Still, my desire for the perfect carrier was not sated. I marveled at the simplicity of the designs worn by the women in my Crafty Mama meetup. I am just not confident enough to master the Moby wrap or make my own and I give them much respeck for doing so. Seriously, the broads in that meetup are so freaking laid-back, they are such a perfect combo of earth and urban mama it’s practically criminal. They’ve lived all over the world and travel on public transport with their newborns whilst lugging homemade bread and hand-blended compound butters. I will never be that hip, as I don’t even like strangers breathing near Bean, let alone crushing us on the el. I’ve lately been using the bus with him, though, so I am getting better about it.

The bus sojourning we’ve been doing brought a very important sling feature to light: I cannot currently place him on my back or front without having to place him in the newbornish frog position, which he can now only tolerate for short times. The Maya wrap is better than the kangaroo pouch for solving this issue, but still not as versatile as I need it to be for ol’ Crazy Legs Bean. Solution found, and it is a thing of beauty to me:

The Ellaroo Deluxe Mei Tai

So yeah, um, this will be my sixth carrier. I would like to say I can stop anytime I want, but that would clearly indicate denial. Meh. I may go broke buying baby carriers, but at least it’s not crack.